The Fear and Hope in Our Eyes
by RainyDays-and-DayDreams
Summary: In a world where the dead roam the land of the living, John and Sherlock are everything to each other- all they have left from a time past. They travel, never stopping, just trying to stay alive. But what happens when ghosts from their pasts arrive, telling them that there may be a cure for this madness? Johnlock, Mystrade, and a crappy summary. T for violence
1. Prologue

_**a/n: Why, hello, all the beautiful people who have decided to come and check this out! The idea for this struck me without warning, but I felt the need to write this. I have no idea where the story is going to go, so I shall be as surprised as you! Rates, reviews, favorites, and follows are to me what cake and Lestrade are to Mycroft, which is a lot, so please do these things! This has not been betad, or Brit-picked, so any Americanims/ grammar errors/ spelling errors are my fault, and please feel free to point them out to me in a review or PM! Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!**_

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_Prologue:_

Years later, John would look back on the day everything started and wonder, "Was my life ever really so normal?" Sure, compared to the standards of most people at that time, John's life was far from normal, but that was a hazard of living with the world's only Consulting Detective. But now, he was so used to always being on the run, always looking for the living dead, killing so many people who were no longer people- it almost made his head hurt to think there was a time before all this, a time when he woke up at a regular time most mornings, drank tea, went to work... There are days when John misses that life. Then there are the days when, even though life as they knew it then has ended, John can't help but enjoy his new life. He is always on the run, always with Sherlock. There is a never ending supply of adrenaline running through his veins, and God, does it feel good. The uncertainty and fear gets to him sometimes, though. Those are the days when he will hold Sherlock's hand, or arm, or anything he can grab, throughout the day and never let him go. He never wants to lose Sherlock, not again. So he holds him, and tells himself he misses their old lives, and he knows he's telling the truth, but he also knows that he loves their new lives and he hates himself for it.

Life goes on for them. They kill the undead. The undead try to, and sometimes almost succeed, in killing them. They run, never stopping except for food, clothes, or water. They have no destination in mind, though John thinks they may be going east. Occasionally John will wonder what has become of Mycroft and Lestrade, or any of the others they left behind. But the running never stops. The running is their life now, and there is no going back.

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**_So, I apologize for the shortness of this, but I wanted to get the mood right. There will be a official chapter within the next few days, hopefully before the weekend is up. Again, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! _**


	2. The Beginning of the End

_**a/n: OH MY GOSH, YOU GUYS. I am absolutely amazed at the amount of feedback I've had. Six entire people are following this... Six people, with entire separate lives, are following this. That is ridiculously cool to me. And more than eighty views... this is almost to good to be true. Thank you all so, so, so much, and I hope you enjoy this! Please rate, review, favorite, or follow, because**__**they are to me what cake and Lestrade are to Mycroft!**_ _**Oh, and I should probably put one of these:**_

_**Disclaimer: I own none of the brilliant characters, and make no profit off of them. The only thing that is mine is the story idea. Now please leave me alone so I can go sob in a corner because Johnlock isn't canon (yet)... *sob***_

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The day had started out normally enough. I had gotten up at two in the morning to yell at Sherlock that if he was going to play the violin at this god-forsaken time in the morning, then the least he could do was NOT make it sound like a dying cat. This, like so many nights before, caused Sherlock to pout, which led to me leading Sherlock into his room so we could sleep together. This led to me waking up late, which led to me leaving the flat in a rush, barely remembering to say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, so I could go to the surgery. If I had known what was going to happen, I would have stayed, enjoyed a few more hours of normalcy, spent more time with Mrs. Hudson. But now- now that day is gone, and it is never coming back.

I arrived at the surgery, and Sarah desperately gave some patients. Apparently there was a new illness that was being spread by people biting each other, and it was flooding them. I'd just started to work on a second patient when Sherlock came running into the clinic, yelling for me. Sherlock ran to my room and pulled me away from my patient. "Sherlock, what the hell-" I managed to get out before Sherlock interrupted me. "John,these people are not going to get better. You need to leave now before anything worse happens. Pandemonium is about to break out, and I really need you back at the flat so we can get out of London before it's too late." I gazed at him with an open mouth. "B- but Sherlock, these people need my help, and wait a second, what do you mean, pandemonium? Sherlock-" I was cut off again by Sherlock grabbing my arm and dragging me out of my office. "No time to explain, John," he yelled against my protests. Sherlock dragged me out of the building, and into a black car that was already there at the curb. I was shoved into it rather roughly by Sherlock, who then went into it and slammed the door. "Mycroft, you know where to take us," he said. I noticed the physical embodiment of the British Government was in the car with us. "Mycroft, what are you doing here?" I asked, already too shocked to be surprised at his presence in the vehicle. Mycroft smiled tiredly at me. "In about three hours, John, there will be no government for me to run. I decided to use the remaining time where I have some say in the world to make sure my brother, his boyfriend, and those you associate yourself with are safe." Mycroft finishes this with a deep exhale, putting his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Satisfied?" I feel myself nodding. "I don't suppose there's any point in asking why all this is happening?" I ask, feeling sarcasm bleed into his voice. I'd just been dragged away from my job by my boyfriend, told by my boyfriend's brother that the government was about to collapse, and that he needed protecting from something. This was enough to set any man over the edge. Thankfully, I'm not your average man. I could still feel frustration build up inside of me though. Mycroft sighed again, and was about to speak when Sherlock interrupted him. "John, are you aware of the ridiculous myth that teenagers are so obsessed with these days?" he asked. "You mean the zombie apocalypse stories," I say. "Precisely. Well, these myths may be best to describe what is happening right now." I felt my eyes widen in shock. "So you're telling me we're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse right now?" I ask, desperately hoping that the answer is no. "Don't be daft, John," Sherlock says. I am about to give a sigh of relief when he speaks again. "Those myths are far too inaccurate to precisely describe what is happening. However, there is a disease that us spreading that stops the majority of people's brain functions, and gives them a desire to eat other people. Which, coincidentally, is how the disease is spread- by being bitten by one of the sick people." Sherlock looked at me. "So, in a way, I suppose you are right." He sinks back into his seat and I lower myself into mine.

Well, shit.


	3. Gathering Supplies and Saying Goodbye

**_a/n: Hello, lovelies! I am so, so, so, so sorry for the long wait. Life has been throwing a lot at me as of late, and it's just now beginning to settle down. I've also recently suffered from a severe case of writer's block, and I've had some troubles with writing this story. Which reminds me: I originally intended to do this story from John's POV, in the first person, but I recently discovered that not only is it damn near impossible for me to write a story where actual action takes place (not just inner thoughts and monologues) from the first person, but I'm absolute shit at doing it from John's POV. So from now on, this story will still be from John's POV but in the third person (unless there is an unusually introspective chapter or John is down for the count for some reason, in which case I will be using the first person or Sherlock's POV). I will not, however, be changing the previous chapters because chances are that I'd just end up screwing them up. _**

**_DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these amazing characters. The only things that belong to me are this story-line and the tears I am currently shedding because I do not own these characters. *sob*_**

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The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. John stared out the window, trying to absorb as much of the city he loved before he left it for good. He didn't have to ask to know that they weren't coming back. He knew.

The car slowly pulled up to 221B. Sherlock hopped out, coat swishing behind him, and held out the door for John. John smiled a little sadly at him and got out as well. John didn't miss the sadness in Sherlock's eyes as well. He knew too, then.

Sherlock bounded up the stairs ahead of John, no doubt already sorting through what he deemed of vital necessity and what he thought could be left behind. John was, in all honesty, still in shock. Not twenty minutes ago he had been in the clinic, looking forward to going home and spending the rest of the day curled up on the couch with Sherlock, not aware that there was anything strange or catastrophic going on at that very moment. But here he was, climbing up the stairs to what had become his home to for what was probably the last time, now aware of the... zombies (John was still having difficulty with the word)that threatened him and those he loved. Mrs. Hudson had been vacationing with he sister. _Is she okay?_ John wondered. _Is she even still alive?_ That stopped his slow ascent up the stairs. The thought that their sweet, old landlady who was like a mother to Sherlock could currently be dead or worse shook him to his core. But John couldn't afford to dwell on such thoughts. He was running out of time. He continued his ascent and hurried.

He arrived, slowly nudging the already open door farther open. Sherlock was like a hurricane, running around with manic energy and throwing everything he thought they might need into various bags that were scattered about the flat. John watched this for a minute, a bemused smile finding its way to his face against his will. He left to go to his and Sherlock's room. He pulled out an old army bag of his and threw what he knew was essential into it. _Clothes, medical supplies, hygiene products, money (for however long it was good for), general survival gear, all the weapons and ammunition that was laying around the flat... _John looked around, seeing if there was anything else of sentimental value he should grab. His eyes fell on a picture on the nightstand. It was one of the only pictures of Sherlock and John together, taken about a month after they had gotten together. John and Sherlock had been sitting on a bench, staring up at the stars. The anonymous photographer who had taken the picture and given it to them had captured Sherlock in a rare moment of weakness: his head was on John's shoulder, and his eyes were rapt as they took in the night sky, and a faint smile was touching his lips. John had his arm wrapped around Sherlock, and he wore a similar look on his face. John smiled fondly at the photograph and placed it gently in the bag, before zipping it shut and walking out of the room.

Sherlock was waiting at the door, three bags nest to him. _Of course he would need three bags, _John thought with amusement. "Are you ready?" Sherlock asked, gesturing towards the open door. John smiled at him, and then kissed him on the cheek. "Always," he said, and then he walked away from his old life.

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_**Holy crap. I swear, you guys, that was NOT supposed to be so angsty. Oh well. Quick announcements: I am working on two collaborative projects with two very lovely and amazing and super- nice authors who I adore. I'm super excited about this, and if you decide to check them out, I hope you like them! I still have no idea where this story is going, so updates may be sporadic, but they will be more frequent now. I will be publishing another one- shot soon.**_

_**That's it for announcements. If you want to have a slight idea of what was going through my mind as I wrote this, I was listening to "Grow Old" by The Naked and Famous on repeat while I wrote this. It doesn't have anything to do with this story, but the tone of the song kind of inspired this chapter... which may explain why it is so angsty. Please review and tell me what you thought! Reviews are like writer candy, and they mean as much to me as cake and Lestrade do to Mycroft. So, a rather lot. Again, thank you, and I hope you have a wonderful day! **_


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